What Goes Up Must Come Down
by doc100
Summary: What can happen when you get the flu...one of life's embarassing moments. Written in response to a challenge. Involves my Rabb family from 'A Nickel Trumps a Dime of Fate.'


**What Goes Up…Must Come Down** by doc

_**AN**: This is my answer to the November Fanfic Challenge. Usually I write more serious pieces, but I had trouble with this month's lines. So this time, I decided to try my hand at a little humor. The challenge lines were from the episode 'Retreat Hell' and are as follows: "Why are you staring at me? … You're out of uniform. Right? … I'm going out to dinner with Mic. You'd think you'd never seen me in a dress before."_

_This snippet involves my Rabb family from 'A Nickel Trumps a Dime of Fate.' For those who haven't read the preceding long story, Harm and Mac are married and in private practice together as child advocacy lawyers in San Diego. They have three children, Ben, Conner and Ellie._

_To set the stage, the Rabb family has been sharing a nasty flu-bug. Harm, attentive father and husband that he is, has been relegated to the role of primary nursemaid and healthcare provider for his ailing brood._

_By the way, this story is the intro to my next piece of Rabb Family fiction. I'm just finishing a Christmas story and hope to start posting in about a week. Sorry it's late…but hopefully still enjoyable!_

_Special thanks to Mom, my faithful finder and keeper of all things related to spelling and grammar._

_Disclaimer: I don't own JAG or any of the characters. I just take them out and play with them on occasion before replacing them safe and sound back on the shelf._

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14:30

December 2013

The Rabb House

La Jolla, California

Mac dragged her feet down the hall as she made her way toward the master bedroom. Although her fever had finally broken, she was still exhausted and achy. She and the kids had been sick for the last 3 days. Ben had picked up a flu bug at school and lovingly shared it with both of his siblings and her. Harm had been left to dole out Tylenol and clear liquids, rinse out wastebaskets, clean up perpetual messes, replace cool washcloths on fevered brows, and soothe the anguished cries of their 3 munchkins.

She'd been only slightly less demanding.

She made a detour into the laundry room to start another load of sheets. No matter how many times she'd encouraged her sons to use the wastebasket at the side of their beds, they always managed to nail the sheets and the floor. Shifting a load of towels from the washer to the dryer, she wrinkled her nose at the pile of linens on the laundry room floor. Harm had been so busy dealing with the kids that he hadn't had time to do more than a couple of loads.

Adding laundry soap, she closed the door of the washer and headed back down the hall with a glass of Sprite and a new bottle of Tylenol in search of her husband. Now that she and the kids were on the mend, she suspected her sailor was about to take a turn for the worse. Despite his protests to the contrary, she'd noticed his flushed face and lethargic behavior over lunch. She'd taken on the task of getting the kids down for their naps, hoping that all he needed was a bit of a downtime.

As she rounded the corner of their bedroom, she heard muffled noises coming from her closet. Figuring one of the kids had escaped from their bed, she sighed in exhausted frustration and headed toward the noise. When she heard a loud thud followed by a pained 'ooof,' she hastened her pace. To her bewildered amazement, she discovered her husband sprawled on the floor muttering incoherently.

"Gotta…stop…her. Can't marry Bugme…."

Kneeling at his side, she reached for his arm, "Harm? Sweetheart, what are you doing on the floor?"

He shivered violently as another chill wracked his body. "Gotta stop her…."

She tugged him into a sitting position, "Stop whom?"

"Sarah! I can't…let her…marry Bugme!" he shivered.

"Sweetheart, I'm not going to…."

"No! I gotta go…now! She going…to dinner…with Bugme tonight…set…date…for wedding!""

She placed her palm against his forehead, "Oh Harm, you're burning up. I knew you were getting sick at lunch."

He pushed her hand away and stared into her face as if noticing her for the first time, "Mac?"

She smiled back at his quizzical expression, "It's me, sailor."

"What'cha…doing here?"

"I live here."

"Oh?" His teeth chattered as he spoke, "Then…what…I…doing here?"

"In my closet?" she chuckled. "I'm not sure…and what's with this get-up you're wearing?"

"You…can't…marry him…Sarah!"

"I'm not going to marry him, Harm." She stood and tugged on his arm to help him off the floor. "Come on, Sailor…let's get you off the floor."

He slowly came to an upright position with a groan of pain and then promptly swayed on his feet. She pulled him into her arms to steady his gait. His head bobbed up and down several times before dropping onto her shoulder, "Mmmm…like this."

Rubbing a hand up and down his back, she danced him slowly over to the bench in her closet. Helping to lower him onto the seat, she tugged at his clothes, "Let's get you out of these and into bed."

He threw her a silly grin, "Red light, Colonel! Don't ya think…we should…date first?"

She shook her head at his nonsensical ramblings and softly laughed, "I think we're way past the dating stage, flyboy."

Batting her hands away once again, he giggled, "You called me…flyboy."

"Well that's what you are, right? You're my flyboy."

His giggles grew louder before he swayed once again. She caught him just before he could fall on his face. He shyly glanced her way, "You said MY."

"What? Harm, you're not making much sense here…."

Pointing a shaky finger in her direction, he interrupted, "NO! You said…I'm YOUR flyboy."

"Of course, you're MY flyboy…whose flyboy do you wanna be?"

He beamed, "YOURS…only yours…and you're MY marine…not Bugme's!"

She tugged on his hand once again to get him to his feet, "Yes, I'm your marine…and only yours." Placing an arm around his waist, she led him into the bedroom.

He halted their progress just outside the closet door, "Where we going?"

"I'm taking you to bed!" she sighed in frustration.

"What about the date?" he grinned like a fool.

"Harm, trust me on this…we've already been there."

Once he was sitting on the bed, she fluffed his pillows and encouraged him to lie down. Before she could reach for the covers, he grabbed her hand, "You won't leave me?"

"Just for a minute, I need to go check on the kids."

His eyes filled with tears, "You and Bugme have kids? But we had a deal?"

Sitting on the side of the bed, she caressed his cheek, "No Harm, Mic and I don't have kids. YOU and I have kids."

"What?" his eyes glazed over.

"Harm, I'll be right back…I promise. I think I heard Ben calling." She stood to leave the room.

"Your looks…and my brains?"

"What?" she turned back around.

"He have your looks…and my brains?"

Actually, he has his own unique look…Ben's adopted…Connor, too."

"What?! Why, we adopt?"

She walked back to the bed and took his hand, "Because I couldn't get pregnant."

"Oh," his expression fell. "So we can't make a baby?"

"Well…that's what we thought before Ellie came along. Harm, I just need to check on Ben and I'll be right back."

"Wait!"

She ducked her head and massaged her neck; her headache was returning with a vengeance.

"I have a daughter?" his eyes were wide with amazement, "...me…NOT Bugme?"

"Yes Harm, we have a daughter…YOU and ME."

His sappy grin returned, "My looks…your brains."

"Weeellll, actually it's the other way around. She looks like me, but she definitely has your personality."

"But that's…not…the deal," he looked puzzled.

"Maybe not, but you love her all the same. You call her 'Your little marine'."

"Okay," he laid back against the pillows once again, "…but she's mine, right?"

"Through and through, now why don't you get some sleep and I'll be right back."

"'kay."

She smiled at his fever-induced ramblings and whispered, "Love you, sailor."

One of his eyes popped open, "YOU love ME?"

"For ever and always…now go to sleep!"

He paused in thought, eyes squinted in deep concentration, "To…the moon…and back?"

She smiled, "That's my flyboy…now close those eyes." The next sound she heard was the musical cadence of his snores.

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Four hours later…

Mac tiptoed into their bedroom to check on her sleeping spouse. He'd finally quieted into a restful sleep about two hours prior when the Tylenol had kicked in. Sitting on the side of the bed, she ran her fingertips across his forehead, pushing the hair away from his sweaty brow. Leaning in to place a gentle kiss against his skin, she noticed that while he was still warm to the touch, his temperature had finally dropped.

He stirred to her touch and opened a groggy eye. "Maaacc?" he croaked.

"Right here, sailor." She reached for the cold glass of Sprite and lifted it to his lips.

After a couple swallows he grimaced with disgust, "Don't feel too good."

"I know…I've been there remember? Are you ready for another dose of Tylenol?" she extended her hand to offer two capsules.

He wrinkled his nose, "Give my stomach a minute to settle. How are the kids?"

She smiled with relief, "Better actually…their fevers have been down for 24 hours now, no vomiting since last night, and they wanted real food for supper."

He raised a brow, "Where are they? Too quiet around here."

"With your folks," she set the Tylenol back on the nightstand. "When Trish heard they were feeling better, but you were sick…she took pity on me and came for the kids."

"Do you think that's wise? I mean they're just getting over this…" he paused mid sentence and began to writhe in bed.

She rubbed a hand over his chest to still his movements, "Achy?"

"Yeeaahh," he whined.

She rolled her eyes, "I think the kids will be fine. Trish made a big pot of chicken noodle soup. You know that whole 'feed a fever, starve a cold' or is it 'starve a fever…'."

"Maaaac, could we not discuss food?" he turned on his side and closed his eyes attempting to calm his rolling stomach.

"Sorry," she gently rubbed his back. His clothes were soaked through and she could feel the chills beginning to return as his temperature climbed once again.

"Harm, we need to get you out of these wet clothes…maybe you'd feel better if you took a bath."

He rolled his head toward her and opened an eye, "Are you offering?"

She chuckled, "Do you ever stop flirting?"

He groaned at the pain inflicted by even those minimal efforts at movement, "With you, babe…NEVER! But for today, I think…I'll have…to stop…with just the…."

"All talk and no action, typical…I guess I'll let it go this time, sailor." She pulled the blankets away from his body, "Now let's get you out of these clothes."

He rolled onto his back and momentarily froze in horror. Quickly reaching for the covers, he flailed to hide his attire. Crazed eyes held wide in panic flicked around the room, before settling on his wife.

She smirked at his frantic maneuvers, "Why are you staring me?"

His mouth gaped open and closed in desperation. Gulping several times, he finally found a high-pitched voice, "Ah Mac…could you, ah…I ah…I think I could use some more, ah…some more Sprite. Yeah, that's it…I need something to drink."

She pointed toward the bedside table, "Right next to ya, sailor. Just brought it in…nice and cold."

His cheeks flushed brightly and this time it wasn't from fever. "Oh ah…how about some…Tylenol?"

"Next to the Sprite."

"Motrin!" he declared in triumph.

"Nope…not with the flu…doctor's orders!"

He deflated in resignation and quickly lifted the covers to take a quick peek.

"You're out of uniform…right, sailor?" His eyes nervously flicked to hers. She reached for the blankets and he stubbornly held on tight.

"Come on, Harm. We need to get you out of those sweaty clothes before your fever goes back up." She pried the blankets from his white-knuckled grasp.

"Not a word, marine!"

She tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle, which only resulted in an explosive snort. "You'd think you'd never seen yourself in a dress before," she doubled over in a fit of laughter.

He exhaled loudly with a pout, "How did this happen?!"

"I don't know," she shrugged, small staccato snorts continuing to escape through her clenched lips. Clearing her throat to gain control, "I found you in my closet dressed like that, lying on the floor and muttering incoherently. I think it was the fever," she raised a palm to her mouth to hide the grin.

"Get me out of this thing!" he huffed like a petulant child.

Well, what did she expect, she mused? Men always reverted to childish behavior when they were sick. Trish had called it right and luckily came to her rescue with the 'other' three kids. "Thank heavens for mother-in-laws," she muttered under her breath.

"What?" he scowled.

"Nothing," she demurred.

Tugging at the dress, they struggled in vain to remove the garment. "Harm, how did you get this thing on?"

"Don't ask me…I was clearly not in my right mind!" he mumbled around the fabric in his mouth.

Finally giving up in frustration, Mac stood back to consider their options. The bodice was tightly wrapped around his arms and the skirt thrown over his head.

"Maaaccc, get me out…I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Hang on, I think we'll have to cut it off."

"I don't wanna ruin your dress." He struggled a bit more before bellowing, "Get this thing off me!"

She grabbed scissors from the nightstand and began cutting. "Don't worry about the dress, sailor. It's just one of my old maternity numbers. I didn't even know it was still in my closet. Leave it to you to find the one dress that would fit over a 6 foot-4 sailor."

"Can we NOT talk about this!" He sighed in relief once he was free and then promptly swayed with dizziness.

She reached for his arm and lowered him back to the bed. He wouldn't meet her gaze. Sitting next to his side, she pulled his head onto her shoulder. "Harm, you know that holiday charity event I wanted to attend?"

"Mac, I told you I don't wanna go to that stodgy affair…I hate black-tie."

"I think I have something that might change your mind," she replied in a sing-songy voice as she caressed his cheek.

"Not a chance!" he nuzzled his face into her neck.

She shook her head. He was just like Ben when he got sick. She pulled a photo from the pocket of her robe. Holding the Polaroid at arm's length, she pondered, "I wonder what Keeter would think of you in a dress? I'm just getting ready to send out the family Christmas cards."

His head popped up, "You wouldn't dare! That's blackmail!"

"This from the man who conned me into a weekend at a golf resort. As I recall you used a little piece of photo intimidation yourself!"

"Maaacc, let's be reasonable about this."

"You weren't particularly reasonable when it came to that picture of me covered in mud…compliments of Ellie's self-made mud pie pit in the backyard."

His hand covertly moved across her thighs. She pretended not to notice. When he grabbed the Polaroid and held it up in triumph, she shrugged her shoulders, "No problem, you can keep that one. I have half a dozen more digitals downloaded into a secure file on the computer."

His eyes grew wide, "Mac…."

"I've already composed the e-mail and attached a copy of the pictures." She held up her index finger, "One flick of a finger and all your buddies get the laugh of a lifetime…Keeter, Sturgis, Bud, AJ…."

"I get the picture," he croaked, "…pun intended."

"My poor squid…you should know by now, not to mess with the marines."

"But Mac, I hate wearing a monkey-suit."

She rose to her feet and tugged him along with her, "You look fabulous in a tux…good enough to eat."

His face turned green, "Don't talk about food…I think I'm gonna be sick." His hand flew to his mouth.

She pushed him toward the bathroom, "You're old enough to hit the toilet, sailor. I've done enough laundry for the day."

He ran into the bathroom as she began to strip the sweaty sheets from the bed. His head popped back around the door, "About that bath you were gonna give me…."

"You're incorrigible!"

"But you love me anyways," he preened like a peacock.

"Forever and always…."

He smiled with sincerity, "To the moon and back…"

_The End…for now?_

'**_You're All I Want for Christmas'…soon to follow._**


End file.
